


and if there's a reason i'm by her side (i'm willing to wait for it)

by fortunatedaughter



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8279239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatedaughter/pseuds/fortunatedaughter
Summary: After the third conversation between them turns into phone sex, it’s clear Mike isn’t the only one having trouble letting go.orthe mike gets traded and stuff happens au. could be considered future speculation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> blame the fucking phonecall scene and the new promo.

He gets traded on a Monday morning.

Oscar says it’s just business, that the money is tight and that’s how it goes. That he’s inbetween a rock and hard place with singing the Cuban. (Mike reads between the lines. They can get more out of the new guy than they can him. Throwing hometown hero Mike Lawson under the bus for a defector that’ll last nearly double the seasons Mike ever would in the upcoming years.)

“Keep it out for a while, if you could. Gimme a chance tell Baker. Think I owe her that much.”

Oscar merely nods, too afraid and worried that Mike’s gonna make a scene to actually say anything.

As he leaves Oscar’s office and Al’s scowling face behind, his phone rings --- the name that flashes along his screen is a number that hasn’t called in a long time, way back when he was only just being scouted. (The Yankees send over a contract that he signs without hesitation. It’s only a two year deal, but that’s fine. He’s only got two years most left on his knees anyway, and if he’s gonna go out like this --- he’s gonna get fucking **paid**.)

When he tells Ginny two days later, she cries.

(She’s an angry crier, apperantly --- blotchy face, snarling expression, tears falling down her face. As if she’s angry she’s weak enough to expel tears and angry enough that she can’t stop them all by sheer force of will. It breaks his heart that his rookie is like this; feels the only way she can survive is if she bottles every damn emotion up and lets it age like damn fine wine.)

“This is such **bullshit**!” She yells, arms waving and for a moment, Mike wonders if she’s gonna throw a vase against the wall.

His arms cross over his chest and he flashes her a worrying glance. A shrug ripples through his body. “It’s the sport.”

“Well fuck the sport!” Ginny yelled.

Mike raised his eyebrows, looking at her as if she was stupid. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do!” She snarled, a fresh wave of tears pouring down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily, her head shaking furiously and curls flying wildly. (He wants to tangle his hands in them, tip her chin up towards him, kiss her without abandon. As if it’s the last time he’s going to see her and be near here and feel that life falling from everyone of her pores.)

Ginny doesn’t seem to notice he’s tuned out. “Half the reason I only signed to the Padres was because I wanted to work with you.” Her gaze shifts to him. "There’s no point to me being here if you’re not here.”

Great. Now Mike might cry. His tongue darts out, licking his bottom lip as he struggles to control his breathing. “Ginny.” (It’s the first time he’s used her first name and it sounds heavy and strange coming from his mouth.) “I’m only gonna say this _once_ so I want you to listen real good, alright?” He approaches her, hands coming to rest on her shoulders and directing her gaze to look at him.

“This game? This sport? Right now, it is on the cusp of something huge. It’s gonna breath air into spaces that hasn’t even see the light of day in hundreds of years.” His voice takes on a quality of childlike wonder and disbelief --- as if he never thought he’d get to the point where one day he’d see a female playing alongside him. “You --- you, rookie, are so much **bigger** than a damn 36 year old catcher with bad knees.”

A sad smile blooms on his face. "And if my being traded means you’re paid what you’re worth and the Padres live to see another season? Then my whole career in baseball has been worth it.”

Her bottom lips quivers and Mike’s face crumples.

“You’re gonna keep in contact, right?” Her question comes out wet and thick. (He was her idol and it was her dream --- playing with him, pitching for him. She wasn’t kidding when she told him that night she pitches better with him. She’s always trying to prove that she’s worthy to pitch with the great Mike Lawson; his star power always drives her to do better, be better: to say that she’s the fucking best and Mike Lawson _agrees_. What does she have now, now that he’s not there?)

“Given how much the Yankees are payin’ me, I think I might be able to swing a phone call or two.”

* * *

Mike leaves San Diego three days after he first arrived when he was 23 and fresh out of the Triple A.

His mom is happy to have him back home in New York --- happy her eldest son has returned to the fold, but the ever present frown around the corners of her mouth show how she truly feels.

His sister is more vocal --- much in the similar way Ginny was. She doesn’t turn one of her games on to watch, which, says a lot. (Vanessa was always the biggest fan of women being the first at something and when Ginny popped up she was glued to the screen. For her to not be...)

His first game with the Yankees is fine. Great even. Sportcasters say it’s good, shows that despite the shitstorm, Mike Lawson is a professional who can play.

(What Mike doesn’t tell them after the fact is the ache in his chest at not seeing Ginny Baker on the mound.) 

* * *

"Miss me old man?” Ginny grins, picking up the phone, heart already picking up.

“Stupidly so.” Mike sighs, though the teasing in his voice belies the seriousness of his words.

Ginny quiets and she sighs. “I know.”

Mike snorts, hesitantly lowering himself into his couch with only one or two winces of pain. “Sanchez calls off more than you do.”

“Wow.” She drawls, grinning. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

“Neither did I.”

* * *

“What’s the problem?” He huffs out, settling back in his couch, beer in hand and phone pressed to his ear.

“He’s a dick.” Ginny curses. “He’s a sexist pig, which really fucking screws me because you’d think a dude who defected would have a lil sympathy for the first girl in the majors.”

Mike snorts. “He’s from Cuba, Gin, what the fuck did you expect?”

“You. That’s what I expected.”

* * *

“You’re pullin’ your throws.” Mike says by way of greeting when Ginny picks up the phone that night.

Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re pullin’ your throws since the story broke. Don’t even lie to me, I know you too well.”

(Shoutout to _attack_code_ , the hacker who leaked Ginny’s photos for the world to see not even two months back. He saw the first game she pitched after the story broke, and despite the pride in his system at seeing her take the mound despite everything --- it was all too much like her first game and it hurt.)

“I made headway.” She sniffles and Mike can see the tears leaking out of her eyes clear as day, despite the thousands of miles between them. “I was one of the guys.”

“Baker --- you are one of the guys.” Mike growls, “No matter what anyone else fucking says. Anyone who disagrees can see me about that.”

* * *

“Baker?”

Something has shifted between them, he knows. It’s no longer just about advice or venting anymore --- when the two of them fall asleep on the phone with each other, it’s a clear fucking sign something’s different. Mike just isn’t willing to put a label on it, for fear of the fact she might run if he does.

“Hmm?” Ginny hums sleepily.

Mike grins. “You asleep?”

A soft snort of laughter. “If anyone’s asleep early it’s you old man.”

* * *

He goes to San Diego near nine months after he first left to sign his divorce papers.

(Once their signed, he barely glances at Rachel as he leaves his lawyer’s office and instead books it over to Ginny’s apartment. They haul themsleves up in her apartment for three days. They spend those three days alternating between sex, catching up, laughing and take out --- it’s the _happiest_ he’s been since he signed with the Yankees.) 

* * *

The phonecalls don’t stop after their three days in San Diego. If anything they happen with more frequency --- and after the third conversation between them turns into phone sex, it’s clear Mike isn’t the only one having trouble letting go. 

* * *

“We’re gonna be fine, Gin.” He says one day, lying upside down in his bed, the both of them silent for a change. There’s no chattering about plays or their teammates or their family going ons, there’s no sex, either.

Ginny snorts bitterly. “No we’re not.”

“Eh.” Mike shrugs, even if Ginny can’t see it. “I’ve appointed myself in charge of morale, so --- gotta be on the bright side.”

A burst of laughter falls from Ginny and Mike grins up at his light fixtures. “The most depressed guy in the National League is in charge of morale?”

“Nah, just wanted to hear you laugh.”

She sighs, soft as can be and Mike presses his lips together. “I miss you.”

“We can do this, Ginny.” He says after a moment of silence.

She nods, though Mike can’t see it. “We can do anything --- **together**.”

 _Together_... yeah, he likes the sound of that.


End file.
